


Kiss the Cook

by AvaKelly



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cooking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Pining, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Recovery, Use Your Words, and an awesome cook, and kisses, bonus shrieking tony, bucky's a stalker, coming together, cuddles and hugs, rhodey's the adult here, sam is oblivious, sam's a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 20:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8298637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaKelly/pseuds/AvaKelly
Summary: "You have no idea what you're doing," Rhodey concludes.Sam crosses his arms and raises his chin. He won't go down without a fight.The smirk on Rhodey, though, turns into a small smile, and he pulls out his phone. "Don't worry," he says as he waits for a call to connect, "we'll help. Hey," he speaks into the mic, "you alone? Uh-huh. That's close. Ditch Rogers and come early. Need you. All right, see you in twenty."~Or the one where Sam can't cook but everyone thinks he can. Based on a prompt from here.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calliope_Soars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliope_Soars/gifts).



> Hello everyone & happy birthday, Calliope o/  
> I know, I know. Nameless not updated yet. But our boys Sam and Rhodey deserve some lurve too, so here they are. Threw in Bucky because I couldn't decide and the peoples have voted lurve for everyone \o/  
> Many thanks to Calliope and Tanouska for listening to me whine and rant about this.  
> Feedback is life. Keeps me writing. (This hasn't been beta'd, so unless it gets attention at a later time, there might be mistakes. You know the drill, let me know if something sticks out.)  
> Enjoy!

It starts innocuously enough, with Sam walking into the shared kitchen of the Facility, scratching his ass and yawning into his fist. It's been one of _those nights_ where he kept himself awake by playing video games and drinking too much coffee, in an attempt to scatter away his thoughts of _bad things_ _TM_. It was mainly about explosions and falling out of the sky and burning alive this time around. Nasty stuff.

Sam's tired, cranky, hungry, and with a slight stomach ache. He already dreads the coldness of the eternally semi-empty fridge.

Nobody cooks around here.

So his surprise is founded when he walks into the kitchen to be met with an incredible aroma of omelettes, still steaming, neatly stored on several plates on the counter. On closer inspection, one has peppers, one tomatoes, one's with bacon, and the others have herbs or cheeses or combinations. Sam swallows audibly in the empty room, immediately followed by the happy grumbling of his stomach.

He grabs a plate, and by the time he turns around toward the table, Steve's already shuffled in, messing with the coffee maker. So Sam starts setting the table. In the next five minutes, the room's full, everyone has a plate of eggs in front of them, hot beverages to match, and for a while there's only the sound of sleepy mumbles and the clatter of forks.

"This is amazing," Steve moans around his bite. "Didn't know you cooked," he tells Sam.

Sam would open his mouth to rebut that, but he's too busy trying not to make inappropriate sounds himself. Fuck, this meal is everything he needed after his night, the tea in front of him so soothing. He didn't see who put the mug there, but they have Sam's eternal gratitude.

"Yeah, aws'm," Tony chimes in, then slurps delicately from his delicate coffee cup.

Sam swallows, inhales--

"Thanks, Sam," Natasha says and the words are stuck in Sam's throat.

Because ever since deciding to throw himself back into the fray with Captain America, nobody ever thanked him, for anything. Given, he is now a bona fide Avenger, so he won't complain. But it would've been nice to hear a thanks for fighting, volunteering, chasing after Barnes, being their personal therapist. Thing is, Sam doesn't mind all that, it makes him feel useful and chases off the _thoughts of doom_ _TM_ , but y'know... a little overt appreciation would be nice. So he swallows again and hopes whoever put in all the work won't mind Sam hijacking it.

~

Evening comes and Sam's feeling a little guilty about breakfast, so he orders homemade lasagna from that hole-in-the-wall restaurant he absolutely adores.

Everyone's impressed by Sam's cooking prowess and Sam only realizes he failed to correct them well after midnight.

~

The pattern keeps repeating. Sam wakes to find food in the kitchen, so he starts on the drinks. It's not that hard to press buttons or heat water, not when Sam is definitely unable to make these delicious meals. They're diverse, too. Waffles one day, french toast the next, salad or pancakes, fruits and yogurt.

Every time, Sam fails to reveal that hey, he _sucks at cooking_.

One time, he tried to boil pasta and it turned into a mushy paste of horrors. Another, he microwaved a frozen meal and managed to melt the wrapping. He can slice up tomatoes, but if you get him to peel potatoes, he's gonna walk away with a few cuts on his fingers. Mom deemed him hopeless.

Anyway, because nobody's actually around during lunch, Sam has taken upon himself to provide the dinners. Good thing he knows the best places. And because he's not a caveman - Mom raised him better - he brings the food out in actual plates with actual forks, none of those plastic disposables.

Everybody loves it.

Sam, for himself, he enjoys this. It's something to look forward to in the morning, something he likes providing in the evening. So, for a while, he refrains himself from trying to find out who's doing the cooking.

Two weeks later, though, he vibrates with the need to know. He wants to say thanks himself, tell that person they're _appreciated._ Show them Sam cares, just like they care about Sam and the rest of the Avengers. Because whoever that is, they're letting Sam take all the credit and Sam's too soothed by it all to let it go unthanked.

However, he can't bring himself to come clean to the others.

~

"What do you mean you're closed? You can't be closed!" Sam hisses into the phone.

Tonight's a big night, everyone's at the Facility at once. That means Tony and Pepper, Jane's been here with Thor for two days, Nat and Clint are coming back in a few hours from their mission. Rhodes has finally finished making adjustments to their security grid, so he's coming to dinner for the first time since _the thing_ started. Vision and Wanda will be here as usual, and Steve called earlier that Barnes has decided to come in for a few days. On top of everything, there's a UN ambassador joining Tony, _plus_ the only person in the world richer than Tony, the prince of Wakanda.

It's going to be packed and Pepper asked Sam if he can make that lasagna that gets everyone moaning at the first bite.

The hole-in-the-wall, though, is closed for renovations and Dolores finally bids him an unapologetic goodbye before hanging up. Sam's in big trouble.

He stands there in the cold kitchen. Can almost hear crickets chirping.

Okay, wait. He is a grown man, he can do this.

First, the internet. Find some _other_ place that delivers.

~

An hour later, Sam's back to square one - no one delivers today - and, with shaking fingers, he opens a recipe website. _'How to make an easy lasagna.'_

The list of thirty ingredients stares back at Sam, right next to a cooking time of... "How many hours?"

Sam breathes in, breathes out. He checks his watch, only four hours left until dinner. Two hundred and forty minutes.

"Hours for what?" comes from the doorway and Sam turns to see Rhodes there.

"Dinner," he says mechanically, voice a little strangled.

Rhodes smiles, bright teeth even whiter in the light of the kitchen. "Yeah, Tony said you're making your famous lasagna. Can't wait to finally try it!"

Sam whines. Only a little bit, before he cuts the sound off, but there must be something on his face, because Rhodes raises an eyebrow.

"What," he asks, "missing some ingredient?"

There it is, an escape, and Sam jumps on it. "Missing a lot," he says. "Gotta run to the store."

"Want company?"

Sam's mouth says yes without him. It's going to be hard to read a shopping list off the web-- but wait, people have those on their phones all the time, and Sam breathes easier as he saves a list while Rhodes is not looking.

~

Fuck. So much pasta. Why is there so much pasta?

"Which one do you usually use?" Rhodes asks and Sam almost startles.

He runs his eyes over the shelves quickly, taking in origin stickers and prices. He snatches a box from the expensive array, one that's not the most pricey but still has a packaging fancy enough to earn his trust that the brand might not be crap.

"This one," he says and drops it in the cart with more force than necessary.

"Gentle, man," comes back reproachingly. "Is that how you treat your lovers, too?"

It takes a moment for the joking tone to register, but by then Sam's embarrassed with himself. First for the pasta, second because that's a really sore spot for Sam. His romantic relationships never last because apparently Sam's not invested enough and not providing enough on the emotional front. So what, he's the type who'd rather demonstrate than say things, contrary to what people might assume.

"Yes sir," Sam mutters, "fuck you, sir."

Oh, great. Rhodes is a colonel and apparently Sam has no filter. But laughter lights up Rhodes' face in a way that makes his eyes sparkle even in the crappy supermarket lighting.

"Not before dinner," he says. "And call me Jim. Or Rhodey."

It makes Sam relax and he smiles back. "Sure," he nods, then turns away to hide his heated cheeks, pushing the cart toward the fridges.

"Uh, Sam? Is one box of pasta enough?"

Sam's inhale is shaky as he looks at the ceiling. Fuck him. Preferably _before_ dinner and the impending disaster.

~

Sam's pretty sure Rhodey at least suspects if not knows already, that Sam is clueless. He kept adjusting Sam's choices throughout the shopping, very subtly, and Sam's thankful. But now Rhodey's still hanging around the kitchen, watching Sam from behind his coffee cup. Sam stares at the array of ingredients he spread out on the table, trying to waste time before Rhodey leaves him alone to fail in peace. The only problem is that Rhodey isn't leaving. He even got a refill. Sam closes his eyes for a moment, sends a prayer to the gods of cooking - there _must_ be gods of cooking, right? - before reaching out toward the items in front of him.

He debates starting with the onions when Rhodey slowly shakes his head. Sam's eyes widen and he snatches his hand. Rhodey smirks, then places his drink down, and Sam glares at him.

"You have no idea what you're doing," Rhodey concludes.

Sam crosses his arms and raises his chin. He won't go down without a fight.

The smirk on Rhodey, though, turns into a small smile, and he pulls out his phone. "Don't worry," he says as he waits for a call to connect, "we'll help. Hey," he speaks into the mic, "you alone? Uh-huh. That's close. Ditch Rogers and come early. Need you. All right, see you in twenty."

What. Sam squints his eyes. "Who was that?"

"Help," Rhodey says unhelpfully as he stands up. "Come on," he pushes at Sam's shoulder. "Wash your hands and let's get this started."

There's something niggling at the back of Sam's thoughts, something he's sure he's missing, but Rhodey directs him to do this and that and Sam's distracted. At least he doesn't have to do anything involving knives, he thinks as he grabs pots and dishes and arranges them as Rhodey directs.

~

Sam is carefully measuring milk with a cup and pouring it into a bowl. It's his second try, but they have enough milk, even if Sam's spilled half a box in the sink already. Everything's fine, Rhodey's there and Sam can't screw this up completely if given easy tasks. He slowly pours the contents of the cup next to the rest of the milk when a metal hand snatches the bowl away.

He doesn't scream. Might have yelped a little, just a tiny bit, but no screaming. His heart, though, is trying to beat its way out of his throat because metal hands coming out of nowhere means impending death and ripped steering wheels and torn wings. Some of his most vivid nightmares of late involve that arm and Sam swallows heavily as he turns around... to be met with an image he never thought he'd see.

Barnes is shuffling around the kitchen with ease, hands moving fast and precise as he prepares things and mixes other things. His hair's tied up in a messy knot with a bright green band, he licks a bit of sauce of his metal thumb and then swivels around Rhodey like he's dancing.

He's entirely non-threatening, dressed in a faded t-shirt, socked feet sticking out from beneath too long pair of worn jeans.

Barnes leans toward Sam, to grab something from the counter most likely, but Sam flinches.

Hard.

Hard enough to almost knock the milk carton over. He hasn't seen Barnes up close since he almost died at his hands. Given, he chased after him, searched for him when Steve was unavailable, but Sam hasn't actually been face to face with the man.

For a second, Barnes looks scared, eyes shifting around, but his face immediately shuts off, his shoulders tensing. He turns away, continues to work, but the relaxed stance he's had is gone. Sam's heart pounds in his chest and he dares look at Rhodey, who's watching him with a frown on his face.

The silence is heavy and thick.

With each passing minute, the lump in Sam's throat grows bigger, as he watches Barnes cook. He looks in his element. Looks _human_ and Sam shudders, rearranging his thoughts. He doesn't look like the monster in his nightmares, on the contrary. He's battered and alive and gentle with the utensils he's using. He's not a weapon, but a victim. Maybe Sam should've reached out to Barnes sooner. Perhaps he could've staved off some of the terrors plaguing his rest.

Rhodey shakes his head, drawing Sam's attention, and it dawns on him. That maybe Barnes has been feeling like Sam's been imagining him. That won't do.

"Sorry man," Sam says as he shuffles closer to Barnes, "you startled me."

Barnes nods in acknowledgement but doesn't look at Sam. He chops something up, before opening his mouth.

"Do you hate me?" he asks, sound raspy and almost inaudible.

Sam looks at Rhodey, but Rhodey's studiously sipping from his cup and tapping at his phone.

"No," Sam says. "I don't hate you."

"Easier if you did," Barnes mutters and Sam's eyes snap at him. He's scowling at his own hands.

"Why's that?"

"Better hate than fear," Barnes says and the words twist Sam's stomach.

Fucking--

Rhodey's looking at the back of Barnes' head now, sadness etched on his features and Sam does the first thing that comes to mind.

He hugs Barnes.

It's awkward and sideways and there's a knife in Barnes' hand, but Sam squeezes as hard as he can before letting go. To say the look on Barnes' face is surprised in an understatement and it settles Sam's instinct to run from the dangerous assassin next to him.

"Thank you for helping me," Sam says. He keeps himself open, even though his voice is not level. But his words aren't a lie, Sam truly is grateful.

Barnes swallows and Sam watches his throat bob, captivated by the motion. "Sure," he says, snapping Sam's attention back to his face.

And Sam scratches the back of his neck, looking away. Today's been a rollercoaster. The clock on the wall proclaims it's half past five and Sam sighs at it, wondering how long will it take to finish the dish. Motion in the corner of his eye draws his gaze in time to see Rhodey give Barnes a thumbs up, immediately followed by a roll of Barnes' eyes.

~

"What starters do you want?" Barnes asks after he closes the oven door.

Sam looks up from where he's washing the dishes used so far, it's the least he can do. "Starters?"

Rhodey chuckles and Sam scoffs at him.

"Just whip up a couple of platters of cheeses and stuff," Rhodey says standing up. "I'll get the wine."

He's gone in a heartbeat and Sam is left alone with Barnes who starts arranging pieces of cheese and deli meat between slices of cucumbers on large plates. There are even eggs boiling in a pot on the stove and Sam marvels at the way with which Barnes moves around the kitchen. Also, at how many dishes he uses. Sam's fingers are already shriveled from the water when Barnes drops another knife and a bowl in the sink. He's standing close, watching as Sam cleans, but Sam isn't flinching, on the contrary. He turns the water off when finished, then wipes his hands. There's something that pokes at Sam's senses, yet he can't figure out what, as they stand there staring at each other.

When Sam looks away it's only to be met with a returned Rhodey watching them silently, a look on his face that feels strange and foreign. Nothing is visible on Barnes' face, either, but apprehension fills Sam, like he's missing something important.

"How about some dessert, too?" Rhodey says, interrupting the silence.

"Chocolate cake?" Barnes offers.

"It's your best," Rhodey nods.

"Aren't you full of surprises, Barnes," Sam quips.

It earns him a wink and smirk that warm Sam more than he's willing to admit. "Call me Bucky?"

It's a question and Sam swallows before saying "yeah."

~

Dinner is a success. The food is praised, Sam's complemented, and he vibrates in his seat with the need to reveal that no, this was Bucky's doing. But they had an understanding, earlier. Bucky helped on the condition that Sam doesn't out him. It's strange and Sam can't figure out why, but he promised he won't say anything, even though he's feeling a lot guiltier than usual for taking credit.

~

He dreams of Bucky again, that night. He's still violent, and the images in his mind are still bloody, but Bucky's _protecting_ Sam this time around. Sam wakes with a strange feeling in his bones, just as dawn is breaking. He's more rested than usual.

Less afraid, he realizes.

So he rushes out of his room to try and catch whoever it is that's cooking breakfast. Whoever it is that's been _kind_ to Sam, giving Sam an extra reason to roll out of bed in the morning and face the day.

The building is quiet around him as he makes his way through the hallways. He's near the kitchen when he hears low voices inside and Sam stops outside the door, breath held.

"You'll join us for breakfast today, won't you?" Rhodey's voice.

Sam's heart rabbits in his chest.

"Nah, they don't want--"

"Buck. We've been through this. Besides, everyone knows you're here, you can't just sneak out like usual."

What? But--

"Stop making sense," Bucky whines.

"You know I can't do that. It's my patriotic duty," Rhodey returns, humor audible. Sam can imagine his smile.

"Sure, Mr. Tin Man," Bucky says.

"I'm disappointed in you, Sargent Cyborg."

"For the last time, you don't outrank me. I was never in the Air Force."

Sam huffs a laugh before he manages to catch himself and he presses his palm over his mouth.

"Your coffee's getting cold," Rhodey says.

Nothing else follows, but the soft sounds of something sizzling in a pan. It smells like eggs. Maybe it's french toast, Sam loves that one.

"Sammy," Rhodey's voice drifts through and Sam shivers.

Not because of the surprise, but because nobody's called him that for a long time, not in that gentle tone Rhodey just used. So he shuffles in, heart in his throat, and sits at the table where a steaming mug waits for him. He is less taken aback by finding Bucky's the one cooking than he thought he'd be.

"How'd you sleep?" Rhodey asks.

"Good actually," Sam says and receives a pleased smile in return.

"Oh, dibs on the first slice," Rhodey pipes up as Bucky walks closer, a plate in hand.

"Nah, you get to share," and he sticks his tongue out at Rhodey before breaking the slice in two and giving Sam half.

With a grin, Rhodey shoves his own half in his mouth, making Bucky shake his head at him. There's fondness there, in their interactions, and it unnerves Sam.

Because, he realizes, he wants it, too. And he's a little envious that they have it.

~

Sam watches from the balcony of the common areas as the Avengers and their guests shuffle around inside, drinking and talking and generally interacting. Steve's in a corner with Tony and Vision, Pepper's talking to Jane, while T'Challa and Thor are in the process of telling Nat about the hardships of princehood. The others are milling around, between a freshly arrived group of diplomats and foreign military representatives. Apparently the Facility is deemed neutral enough that they want to have some unofficial talks about installing the Avengers program at an international level. Pepper's getting agreements rolling, they've already signed with two countries, as a group. It's a wonderful thing, but it's also draining, because everyone wants to meet the heroes.

And Sam honestly needs a break after almost three weeks of the same.

At least he has his mornings with Rhodey and Bucky that, fortunately, haven't been interrupted by politics so far. He turns his thoughts at his newfound friends. There's enough in their interactions to make Sam wonder what's going on there and it keeps him curious and a little jealous. Sam sighs. No, that's not a good path. It's been only a couple of weeks, he can't know what goes on in Rhodey and Bucky's lives. He has no claim over them, either.

"You ok?"

Sam looks up at Rhodey from where he's been leaning against the railing. He's wearing his full uniform and Sam revels at the sight.

"Yeah," he says, straightening. "Just tired," he waves a hand toward the room.

"It can get pretty overwhelming," Rhodey nods.

"How do you do it?" Sam asks and catches what he said only after Rhodey raises a questioning eyebrow. "I mean the job and this, and people forget you're actually a scientist of Tony's caliber."

Rhodey's face warms and his mouth bends in a smile as he drops his gaze to the ground. It sends a sweet pang through Sam's chest. Rhodey looks almost shy, unused to the complement, which is unfair, considering. Sam decides he should keep doing it.

"Wanna get out of here?" Rhodey asks.

Sam nods, then follows, through the crowd, out the door and into quiet hallways until they're out of the main building and crossing the tarmac to reach the security station right outside the tree line.

With practiced ease, Rhodey unlocks the door and leads Sam inside.

"So this is where you've been spending your time," Sam comments as Rhodey opens security doors for them.

"Very same," Rhodey says, waving Sam inside a low lit space.

They're... not in the control room as Sam expected, but in one that's furnished with a sofa and bed, a table and chairs, cupboards and shelves. There's even a small kitchenette in the corner. And on the sofa, Bucky sleeps, but he's shaking, his head thrashing against the pillow. Rhodey walks over quickly, grabbing a gauntlet of his suit on the way.

Sam's heart pounds against his ribs as he watches Rhodey sit on the edge of the couch, because that's not what you do when someone has a nightmare. But Rhodey shakes Bucky, then moves fast enough to catch the metal of his left wrist in the palm of the gauntlet. Like they've been doing this for a while.

He knows he should look away, but Sam can't take his eyes off of how Rhodey speak low, bent over close to Bucky's face. Sam can't make out what he's saying, but he can see how Bucky's relaxing, gradually, until he finally registers his surroundings. Rhodey lets him go, then, raises to his feet and steps back. Bucky follows shortly, throwing just a small glance Sam's way before disappearing through a door on the other side of the room. The sound of running water drifts through and Sam turns his attention back to Rhodey, who's replaced the gauntlet on its rack and is removing his coat.

A lot makes sense suddenly.

"He's been staying here all this time?"

It's been months since Steve told Sam he finally made contact with Bucky, somewhere in Nevada. Sam wasn't there because he was chasing another dead end, and that was his last Barnes finding mission, because Bucky wasn't ready to come in, but willing to meet Steve from time to time. Sam had no idea where he was actually living.

"Almost," Rhodey says. "Caught him sneaking in while I was setting up the sensors. Now we're here."

It's stilted and unlike Rhodey's usual easy tone. Sounds to Sam like he's not saying everything, but Sam doesn't ask. People, in general, are entitled to their secrets. Rhodey, after hanging his suit on a hanger in the wardrobe next to the bed, pulls on sweats and t-shirt. He gathers up the blanket and pillow from the sofa, then waves Sam over before grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.

"Come on," he says when Sam's still frozen on the spot. "We're watching all the Disney movies in order of release. Tonight it's Robin Hood."

"I like that one," Sam says as his legs finally start working.

Not even a minute into the movie, the sofa dips under Bucky's weight on Rhodey's other side. His hair's dripping, his face still wet, but Rhodey doesn't seem to mind, especially when Bucky slides gradually lower to rest his head on Rhodey's shoulder. Sam exhales slowly and closes his eyes. He wishes he had someone to wake him from his nightmares and spend time with him like that.

~

There's a weight over Sam's middle, then the warmth around him shifts. Sam blinks his eyes open.

"Yes sir," he hears Rhodey's quiet voice. "I understand, sir. I'll be there, oh-eight-hundred."

Rhodey's sitting on the edge of the bed, back to Sam. On his other side, Bucky raises as well. The room is still dark and Sam doesn't remember walking to the bed, so he must have been carried over. Huh.

"How long?" Bucky asks.

"A few days, week tops," Rhodey says before he walks into the bathroom.

~

There's no breakfast that morning and Sam orders something for the team, but leaves the kitchen before he can run into anyone.

He's bereft, oddly.

He hasn't seen Bucky all day, either, worry poking at him incessantly. He shouldn't, Rhodey's experienced, but it doesn't stop Sam feeling like he was barely getting warm when the metaphorical blanket was ripped off of him to be left shivering.

So he goes to bed with a knot in his stomach that turns into a vivid image of Rhodey falling out of the sky, engulfed in flames.

Sam gasps while coolness rests on his forehead, while low whispers soothe his ears.

He doesn't question Bucky's presence in his room in the middle of the night. Instead, he curls up in the safety of his arms and lets himself shake.

~

The next morning Bucky makes breakfast while Sam watches. He disappears all day, but as soon as Sam lies down at night, Bucky sits on the edge of the mattress. Sam hasn't even heard him come in.

"You've done this before," he says.

Bucky's silhouette is faint against the drawn curtains on the windows. It's dark inside the room, enough that Sam knows he's there, but not enough to see his face.

"Yeah," Bucky says.

"Why?"

Silence follows for long moments before Bucky answers, but Sam waits patiently. It should be jarring, this discovery, but it isn't. Instead, it's weirdly soothing.

"Wanted to apologize for almost killing you, but you were having trouble sleeping, so..."

"So you made me breakfast," Sam concludes.

Oh, that's--the smile on Sam's face is wide enough to make his cheeks hurt. Sam's a man of action, not words, so he gets this, what Bucky's done for him. Saying thanks is not enough.

Sam grips at Bucky's arm and pulls until he can wrap himself around Bucky. He says it anyway, a whispered "thank you" against Bucky's cheek, before Bucky squeezes back just as tightly. And Sam doesn't even register when the hug turns into kisses, curled up under the blanket, but it's mending him in a way nothing else has ever since he offered Steve his help.

~

He doesn't want to question this thing between them. It's as chaste as making out can be. Bucky doesn't push, so Sam won't either. It's just a thing they do instead of talking. It's comfortable.

It's--

Sam steps away from Bucky at the betrayed look on Rhodey. The sentiment is gone in a flash and Rhodey plasters a smile on his face.

"Having fun without me," he jokes, but it's fake and it hurts Sam.

What the hell has he done.

He should've seen it sooner, he thinks as he looks between Rhodey and Bucky, who is frowning at his own toes.

So he does the only thing he can. He runs. He packs a bag and sends a text to Steve before he drops his phone on the nightstand. He could go back home. Maybe he'll visit Mom's grave, see the old neighborhood. Disappear in the crowd for a while.

~

Sam closes the door to the hotel room behind him and drops the take out bag on the desk there. He's well aware of the pair of eyes watching him and he steals a glance at where Rhodey's sitting in the armchair.

"How'd you find me?"

Rhodey shakes his head. Fuck, Sam messed up so badly. Rhodey looks mad.

"Remember Tony, my best friend? He's an avoidance master and I usually know where he is and why he does it. But you, I can't read that well, not yet. So tell me. Why'd you run?"

He crosses his arms and presses his lips together. Well, Sam's had the past week to figure out why he ran, to untangle the mess of feeling constricting his chest. He had to force himself to be honest and that took a lot, especially since he didn't want to face the mess in which he put himself. He's barely accepted it, so he sure as well isn't ready to _talk_ about it. Especially since Sam might be good with words when it comes to others, but he really _sucks at them_ when it comes to himself. Like he sucks at cooking.

"Why'd you run, Sam?"

He keeps silent and Rhodey lets out a long exhale. Sam expects him to get angrier, but Rhodey raises to his feet and walks over slowly.

"Bucky and I talked," Rhodey says when he's in arm's reach. "About him, and you, and me."

There's a lump in Sam's throat. Might be his heart. Might be guilt. Might be the because of how Rhodey steps close enough to feel his breath on Sam's cheek. And his arms come around Sam in a way that Sam's been yearning ever since that day when he watched him soothe Bucky.

Rhodey doesn't say or ask anything else, but when he steps back and packs Sam's bag, Sam lets him. Follows.

Says nothing in return.

He'll take whatever they give him. No matter how small.

~

Rhodey has a quinjet that takes them to the facility. The trip is just as silent, only Rhodey keeps his eyes on Sam like Sam will run again. Nah, he won't. He can't.

When they arrive, Rhodey steers him toward the security station, through familiar corridors, and into that low lit room that fills Sam with the need to curl up in its coziness forever. Bucky's hovering in the middle of the space, like he's been waiting for them, a crease of worry between his eyebrows, and Sam takes a step toward him before he catches himself. Rhodey changes into sweats while Sam stands there numbly. But then fabric hits the side of his head and Sam takes the cue, slipping into the comfortable clothes as well. Thankfully, Bucky's not staring anymore, but puttering around the small kitchen.

He's making tea, Sam realizes, before being steered to the sofa, before a cup is thrust in his hands, and two bodies flank him with their warmth. It feels a little surreal, to watch cartoons while his heart pangs for the two men on his sides.

"I'm not good at this," Sam whispers after he places his cup on the coffee table.

"I figured," Rhodey says. "I'm not that brilliant at it, either, took me too long to figure out myself and you two. But I guess we're safe to say nobody beats Bucky when it comes to communication ineptitude."

Bucky flips Rhodey off and Rhodey smiles before twisting to face Sam fully.

"Imagine this," he continues. "One day he wakes up to find you on his trail and out of curiosity, he starts following you around. Day after day until he's here and sneaking in under my nose. Boy needed a shower badly, I'm surprised you didn't smell him when he stalked you."

"I wasn't stalking," Bucky mutters.

"But you stank," Rhodey says.

"I was blending in, asshole," Bucky replies, crossing his arms. He has a massive pout on his face and Sam opens his mouth to say something, but Rhodey keeps talking.

"Anyway, he cleaned up rather nice, don't you say?" He doesn't wait for Sam to answer, though. "He's pretty endearing like that, so no wonder I fell for him. Problem was that I was already crushing on you and he was borderline obsessed with you. It shouldn't have been a surprise to find you together, but as it happens, it made me take a hard look at myself."

He sounds very serious right now and Sam swallows when Rhodey takes his hand.

"Thing is, Sammy," Rhodey says and the endearment warms Sam up more than the tea did, "I'm not getting any younger. I've come to accept many surprises from my life already, so why not the three of us. I'd be grateful if you were to consider us together."

 _Fuck yes._ A million times yes, but before Sam can say so, Rhodey speaks again.

"Gotta warn you, though. We all have a shitload of issues, so it won't be an easy ride."

That's true. "I know," Sam says. "Wanna try."

It's also why it's been so good between them so far, because they manage to soothe each other's pains, even though Rhodey's done more than him and Bucky combined. The smile Rhodey gives him is the best and Sam doesn't stop himself from tasting it. Too short, but Sam has a mission.

"If you were to have anything from me right now, what would it be?" Sam asks him.

Rhodey worries his bottom lip with his teeth, but then he shrugs.

"He wants you to kiss him breathless," Bucky says from behind Sam.

That's all the incentive Sam needs to shift into Rhodey's lap and take his mouth. Soon, Rhodey's gasping and squirming under Sam, but he pulls Sam closer, hands clutching at his sides. Being wanted never felt this good before.

They break apart when they run out of air and Sam rests his forehead on Rhodey's shoulder. Rhodey's laughter is contagious, as he tries to catch his breath and Sam basks in the mirth, extending a hand to Bucky. He gets his fingers clasped between metal before Bucky's flesh hands comes to stroke the side of Sam's face, a contented look on his own. It's too much, too good, filling Sam's eyes faster than he can blink the wetness away. But even though sobs soon rip through him, he's still being held and soothed and caressed.

~

"Please let me tell them," Sam begs.

Rhodey's shoulders shake as he chuckles silently where he's leaning against the counter. Bucky turns an unimpressed almost-scowl Sam's way.

"No," Bucky says for the seventh time, short and clipped.

"Why not?"

"If they know, they'll come to me with requests. No."

"But now they come to me," Sam whines.

"We all got our crosses, Wilson," Bucky quips before returning to his stirring of sauce on the stove.

Rhodey's laughing fully now.

Sam squints his eyes at him. "Traitor," he mutters.

"Hey," Rhodey lifts his palms in surrender, "not my fault Bucky asked me before you did. First come, first served."

"Damn right," Bucky says, then walks to Rhodey to plant a loud smooch on his lips.

"Get off my Rhodey!" comes in a shout from the doorway and they all startle at Tony's horrified presence.

Bucky and Rhodey stare at him, then at each other, then at Sam.

"Don't look at me," Sam says as he moves to turn off the stove. "I'm just here to cook."

Rhodey laughs hard enough to bend over, Bucky mutters something at the ceiling, and Sam can't contain his grin. Especially when Tony finds his voice again and yells after Steve.

It's good. Things are good. They're moving slowly, sitting in silence, sometimes talking, other times kissing. But the nightmares now end sooner, with open arms waiting for Sam on the other side.

Sam shifts closer, wraps an arm around Bucky and kisses his cheek, while Rhodey approaches, chuckles still on his lips as he places a peck on Bucky's other cheek.

The steak almost burns, amidst the chaos that descends, but there's laughter and jokes, good natured banter. Maybe some threats, too. And a delicious meal with cheerful company.

It feels like solace. Feels like warmth.

~End~


End file.
